Work Text:
In the corner of his mind, Atsushi knew this was a dream. Yet he still climbed the stone steps going up the mountain.
The forest was too vivid and the flowers over-saturated in their colors. A heavy fog spread through the landscape but he felt no chill or moisture. His boots barely made a sound as he ascended. There were no animals either, no matter how much he strained his hearing.
It was all too foreign and too familiar at once.
When he reached the top of the stairs, past a pristine torii was a field of blood red flowers among the green grass. The grass swayed on an invisible breeze and in the middle of it all was a person he can always pick out amongst the crowd.
Carefully, he made his way to the center of the field. He took his time, avoiding crushing the flowers underneath his feet and even went so far as to hold a hand out to caress the petals. Instead of velvety softness, he felt nothing.
“Jinko.”
He stuck out among the vivid colors of his dream. A smear of black and white in the middle of a colorful canvas. Despite that, Atsushi found a measure of comfort in it.
Akutagawa sat on the soil, knees pulled close to his chest. In another dream he was standing. In another, he laid down on the grass without a care in the world. In every rendition of it, he always invited Atsushi to take the space beside him. This one was no different.
Atsushi sat down next to him, always within arm’s reach.
They sat in silence, content in their little bubble of stillness, where the sun shone high in the sky but not an ounce of its warmth could be felt on their skin. Atsushi was sure that if he reached out, Akutagawa wouldn't be warm either.
Fists clenched on his lap, Atsushi risked a glance at the man beside him. Akutagawa looked the same as he always had in Atsushi’s memory. Pale skin, inky black hair with white tips, and gray eyes that held so much contempt and hatred.
Akutagawa turned to face him, sensing Atsushi’s gaze. His eyes were soft and his face wasn’t set in his signature scowl. There was a calmness to him. As if all the burdens of the world were not set on his frail shoulders. It was an unusual look, something Atsushi thinks he’s rarely seen on Akutagawa’s face. He wishes he could take a picture of it.
A breeze blew, or at least that’s what Atsushi thinks. The flowers bent and the grass rustled. Akutagawa’s white-tipped hair fanned his face and the collar of his coat swayed slightly.
Whatever sense of peace Atsushi felt was carried away by the wind. He should feel the breeze on his skin. He should be able to smell the flowers. He can’t even get the barest hint of Akutagawa’s scent. Not a trace of figs or ink or parchment that tickled his nose. Not even a hint of earl gray tea, the one Atsushi caught a taste of when they shared a kiss.
“Atsushi.”
He wants to cry. He wants to scream and shout and curse the world for the karma of their current lives. It took everything from them even when they never got much to begin with. This dream was a farce, the flowers fake and the Akutagawa in front of him might as well be a patched up version of him borne from Atsushi’s guilt and desperation and loneliness.
Instead, he leaned against Akutagawa’s shoulder. The older man huffed and Atsushi can imagine the slightest hint of a smile on his lips. It makes him press his face against the black coat even further. Atsushi desperately convinces himself that he can feel the texture of the fabric against his cheek.
They stayed like that, stealing whatever moment of togetherness they can, even if it’s only in a dream. Atsushi thinks it’s their way of making up for the times they could’ve spent together. When Atsushi lifted his head to look at Akutagawa again, all the colors were more vivid than before.
“Will I see you again?” Atsushi knows the dream is ending. He was waking up. His hand sought out Akutagawa’s and he twined their fingers together.
“Of course. Where else will I go?” Akutagawa smiled at him, the very same smile he gave that day on the ship.
Atsushi’s heart clenched, his chest tightening. He grasped his hand tighter, unwilling to let go despite the fact that the colors had started to swirl and warp. Despite the fact that Akutagawa’s hand was not warm in the slightest. Atsushi kept his eyes on his face, burning his visage into his memory like he always did.
Eventually, the colors swallowed everything and Atsushi woke to a ray of sunlight hitting him square in the face. He sat up and stumbled to the bathroom, half awake with the remains of the dream in his vision.
Face to face in the mirror, he saw his younger self. Not his current 33 year old self who looked like a wreck after pulling an all-nighter to finish his paperwork, but the 18 year old Atsushi who was healing and hurting and desperate to prove himself worthy of living.
His alarm blared from the bedroom and Atsushi realized that he slept til 9am, horribly late for work. Atsushi weighed his options.
“Will I see you again?”
“Of course. Where else will I go?”
Shaking his head, Atsushi dressed for the day and sent a quick text to his coworkers, saying he can’t make it to the office today. He swung by a flower shop for a bouquet of white lilies before taking the train.
He felt silly and somehow understanding of his mentor in this instance. He spent the entire ride debating whether or not he should turn back but once he got off the train and saw the cemetery, he walked a little bit faster.
I think it’s worth skipping work in favor of visiting a grave.